


Ill Beats

by Unda



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unda/pseuds/Unda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you have more ILL BEATS than you know what to do with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and today is a SATURDAY. Now, Saturdays are cool and all, you get to indulge your natural tendencies to sleep until the clock rolls around into single digits again. 

[ turntechGodhead joined the memo: The four…? amigos ]

TG: sup   
GG: dave!!!   
TT: Ah. The great Mr. Strider sees fit to finally grace us with his presence.    
GT: yeah dave, where have you been huh?   
TG: you know me   
TG: busy guy   
TG: covered in bitches   
TG: dropping ill beats   
TG: I got shit to do you know?   
TT: Ah yes.   
TT: The theoretical ‘bitches’ we hear so much about.   
TT: It’s a wonder that you can breathe under their accumulated volume.   
TG: its my curse to bear rose   
TG: what kind of conversation did I even walk in on?   
GT: i was talking about the new national treasure movie!   
GT: i had a great idea, we could all go see it and then talk about it afterwards!   
GT: like people who live near each other   
TT: Basically like a book club then. But without the books.    
GG: i think those are generally called movie clubs or something??   
TT: Point.   
GT: well?   
TG: im gonna bust in here and say no   
TG: a firm nuh uh   
TG: we did this before bro   
GT: it was great! why did we ever stop doing it?   
TG: all you got us to watch was nic cage films   
TG: and oh here   
TG: whats that you say imdb??   
TT: I’m betting that it’s a Nicholas Cage film   
TG: a winner is you   
GT: but it looks gooood!   
TG: so can we talk about something else?   
TT: Like what Dave? Do you have something on your mind?   
TT: Something you would like to share with the group?   
TT: Any deep seated secrets or burdens to share?   
GG: dave! she’s trying to get in your head again!   
GG: run!   
GT: oh no dave!   
TG: yeah   
TG: no thanks   
TG: lets talk about literally anything but nic cage or rose brain fuckery   
TG: anything   
TT: I can think of a topic.   
TG: …   
TT: Don’t give me that. How about we all say what we had for lunch?   
GT: pb&j   
GT: food of champions!   
GG: hm…   
GG: well it isn’t lunchtime yet here   
GG: but I had toast and strawberry jam for breakfast with a banana   
GG: yum   
TT: I made myself poached eggs and salmon for lunch.   
TT: What about you Dave?   
TT: Dave?   
GT: now this feels all suspenseful   
GG: not sure that the mystery of dave’s lunch is all that mysterious   
GG: but ok   
TT: Dave? It’s a simple question. What have you eaten today?

[ turntechGodhead is an idle chum ]

Your hands are poised above the keyboard. Well, ok, they’re not. They’re folded over each other in contempt for nosey broads. You hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing with a rattle of swords. You keep perfectly still and quiet, like your bro is a fucking T-rex and he won’t know that you’re there if you don’t move.

After a while with no more noise you decide to listen to said nosey broad and actually go brave the perils of the kitchen for once. No sooner has the thought crossed your fine Strider brain than your stomach decides to get in on the action and growl like some kind of zoo animal. 

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you are HUNGRY. This is one of the things that you don’t like about Saturdays. During the week you go to school and shovel all of the food you can into your mouth, enough to send you into a food coma for fourth period, which is usually English. Not like that matters though, that subject isn’t important really. When is your life ever going to depend on deciphering stupid linguistic riddles, huh? Never, that’s when. 

On the WEEKENDS though… there’s no school meals. Which means having to make yourself something in the kitchen. The kitchen seems empty when you enter it and no SMUPPETS get pelted at your face and you can’t see CAL anywhere around either. That doesn’t mean that he’s not there though. 

You open cupboards trying to find some FOOD. After much searching you find some off brand baked beans in a can, it’s kinda dented and looks like it lost a fight with the floor at some point but food is food. Other than that you may as well be called Mother Hubbard on account of the emptiness of your cupboards. You need to shop soon.  
You look around for your bro’s WALLET. If he drunkenly left it here after a gig then there ought to be a decent amount of scratch in it. Alas there is no wallet to pilfer sweet dolla dolla bills from and so you return to your room. 

The chat in the room has wandered on to some other topic and so you tune it out for now. What is more irking however is that Rose has opened up a private chat to you. You pop the top of the tin of your sweet loot and lick it clean, doing your best to avoid lacerating your tongue. You pillage a spoon out of the plastic bag under your makeshift desk. It’s full of plastic cutlery that you stole from a fast food joint a month back, you’re nearly out so it’ll be time to hit another one up soon. Using real cutlery means spending time in the kitchen washing and aside from that being hella dull it opens you up to smuppet attacks. The last time you washed up you looked away from the sink for half a second and then when you put your hand into the sudsy water you pulled it out with a handful of dripping plush rump. You’re noping right out of that ever happening again. 

But first things first.

Spoon, can, beans, mouth, Rose. 

In that order and no other. 

[ tentacleTherapist started pestering turntechGodhead ]

TT: Dave.   
TT: I can’t help but notice that you were avoidant on the subject of food earlier.    
TT: Can I enquire as to why? Or to what it is that you have eaten today?   
TG: geez rose   
TG: im a man of mystery here   
TG: gotta keep up the suspense somehow   
TT: Dave.   
TG: dont wear the name out   
TT: I assure you that it will be fine.   
TT: Your avoidance suggests that there is something wrong. Why won’t you tell me what you’ve eaten today?   
TT: It’s a simple question.   
TG: maybe i dont wanna   
TT: And why would that be?   
TG: remember that time i told you i was eating a hotdog   
TG: and you got all freudian on me??   
TG: i remember that   
TT: You were eating hotdogs out of a can.    
TT: Also I couldn’t miss an opportunity like that. Sausages, really, it’s too irresistible.   
TG: didnt have you down as a sausage girl rose   
TT: Shush, you.   
TT: If I promise not to psychoanalyse you will you tell me what you have eaten today?   
TG: sure   
TG: why not   
TT: …   
TT: This is where you tell me.   
TG: no   
TG: this is where you promise first   
TT: Damn your technicalities. Fine. I promise not to psychoanalyse you.   
TG: alright   
TG: hold onto your panties   
TG: baked beans   
TG: was that worth the fuss??   
TT: Just baked beans? No toast? No eggs?   
TG: nah   
TG: cold from the can   
TG: like a manly man   
TG: which i am   
TT: Ok.   
TT: What about breakfast? Or did you just get up?   
TG: rose   
TG: rose   
TG: why would i get up before noon when i dont have to??   
TT: Of course. How about dinner then? What do you have planned?   
TG: who knows   
TG: maybe some thick sausages   
TG: some meaty balls perhaps   
TG: i could have dessert even   
TG: banana split with a hefty squirt of cream   
TT: You’re enjoying testing me aren’t you?   
TG: its the little things rose   
TT: You are awful.    
TT: But really, what are you going to have for dinner?   
TG: god rose   
TG: why do you even care?

You glare at the screen. Why is she sticking her nose up in your business anyway? It’s super secret business. Like a spy who’s a triple agent trying to infiltrate the CIA. Can’t let these important and juicy nuggets of information just slip through your hands like that. 

Your spoon clinks on the bottom of the suddenly empty can.

Your stomach grumbles, unsatisfied. 

FINE. Maybe you’re just thirsty. You get up and find an AJ from the open multipack and chug it like a giant shot. It churns in your stomach but settles down in what is presumably some kind of beany saucy apple soup down there. Ick. 

Back to Rose.

TT: Because I care about you.

Oh. 

TG: dunno   
TG: nothing in the house unless i feel like spaghettios   
TG: and tbh that can looked like it had a shuriken in it at some point   
TG: its all leaky   
TT: So what are you going to do?   
TG: just ask my bro for some cold hard cash   
TT: Let me know how it goes.   
TT: Thank you for telling me, Dave.   
TG: whatever gets you off i guess   
TG: youre just trying to get that strider body with the secret strider diet   
TG: im on to you   
TT: You caught me.    
TG: whatevs   
TG: gonna go work on some sick rhymes   
TG: later

Your rhymes are utterly sick. You’re afraid it may be terminal. It burns a few crazy productive hours but eventually your creative brain starts to wilt from hunger. Okay, you’ve been hungry the whole time but now you’ve levelled up to REALLY HUNGRY. Time to man up and go talk to your bro. 

You make your way out of your room and down the hallway to your bro’s room. You almost never go down this way on account of the disturbing proliferation of smuppets, lil’ Cal and your bro. You’re just about to knock on his door when it gets yanked open before your fist can even connect to the wood. You however are the master of cool and you don’t even let your surprise show on your face. Not that you are all that surprised, your bro is always pulling shit like this.

“What?” Bro asks flatly.

“Outta food. We’re gonna need some cold hard cash.” You say just as blankly. 

“Cold hard cash, huh?” 

“Yup.”

Your bro seems to consider this for a moment before coming out of his door and shutting it behind him. You’re not sure where this is going until he opens up his strife specibus and his fucking shiny katana appears in his hand. 

“Gotta strife for your supper ‘lil bro. Make a man outta you.” Bro says, cocking his head, as close to a grin as he gets.

You don’t protest. You don’t whine. It never gets you anywhere except getting your ass handed to you on a cheap paper plate. You’ve eaten enough ass in your lifetime to not want to- wait. That didn’t come out right. You’re glad that Rose didn’t hear that. Unless she’s in your head somehow. Which she probably is. 

You go through three rounds and for the first two you put up enough of a fight to avoid anything more than a few nicks and grazes from introducing your fine Strider skin to the gravel of the flat roof. Come the third round though you are TIRED and still REALLY HUNGRY. Dizziness sets in a little and it makes you misstep a flash step or two. This winds you up with a few deeper cuts and a trip down your old friends the stairs. You fucking hate the stairs. 

Bro has vanished into the ether and you lay there for a moment or two, just letting all of the aches set in. You pop your phone out of your sylladex and see a new message from Rose.

[ tentacleTherapist started pestering turntechGodhead ]

TT: How did it go?   
TT: Have you secured your funds?   
TG: in a word   
TG: no

You peel your bruised ass up off of the staircase and make your way back inside the apartment and to the bathroom. You kick the door shut and lock it. You rest your phone on the edge of the sink and settle down on the edge of the bath. The pesterchum window is open and you can read her messages as you treat your new injures with cheap shitty soap and water. 

TT: What happened?   
TT: Dave?   
TT: Your lack of response is quite worrying.   
TG: geez   
TG: hold those horses there   
TG: what are they even all doing   
TG: why do you need so many horses rose?   
TT: You’ve not answered any of my questions.   
TG: cause my hands are busy   
TG: gotta dry them off every time i go to type   
TT: Fair enough.   
TT: Why are your hands wet though? Moreover how is this related to your request for money from your brother?   
TG: had to strife for my supper   
TG: his words   
TT: I take it that you weren’t successful then?   
TG: i have mad skills rose   
TG: you dont even know   
TG: ok   
TG: hold up a sec   
TG: just gotta do something and cant type   
TT: That’s fine.    
TT: So you have no money and therefore no dinner.   
TT: Am I correct in the assumption that your hands are or were wet due to cleaning up strife related injuries?

[ turntechGodhead is an idle chum ]

TG: ok   
TG: back   
TG: lucky i’m so manly, rubbing alcohol would make a lesser man cry   
TG: but not this seasoned veteran   
TT: Truly other men must weep at your machismo.    
TT: Are you okay though? No serious injuries I hope?   
TG: just the usual   
TT: Tell me Dave, how does one initiate a Strider strife?   
TT: Is it foretold in the stars? Through ancient runes? Perhaps something more modern such as a random number generator?   
TG: hell if i know   
TT: Well, how do they start?   
TG: i get told that its strife time   
TG: either a note or just flat out told   
TG: then strifing   
TG: no big mystery   
TT: Do you ever initiate these?   
TG: no   
TG: maybe once or twice but not really   
TT: I see.   
TT: Tell me how the whole strife goes then, not specifics for each one, just the general theme. What's the process?   
TG: why the interest rose??   
TG: you hoping to become a strider and get indoctrinated into the art of the strife??   
TT: Maybe I want to know for academic reasons. Or maybe I want to learn how to defend against my own drunken “caretaker” better. My empty suicide threats don't really get me anywhere any more.   
TG: i thought you had cut that shit out rose   
TT: I have. But answer the question.   
TG: shit rose   
TG: there aint no set menu to these things   
TG: but fine   
TG: step one get challenged to strife   
TG: step two show up on roof   
TG: step three fail to defend yourself entirely    
TG: step four get your ass beat   
TG: step five drag sorry carcass to bathroom to reattach any missing limbs   
TT: So you actually said it then.   
TG: said what??   
TT: that it's a beating rather than training or strife practice or whatever you usually say.   
TG: i didnt say that   
TT: TG: step four get your ass beat   
TT: Dave?   
TT: Dave are you there? Your silence again is worrisome.    
TG: quit being a mother hen rose im fine   
TG: im going to bed   
TT: Dave, it’s barely eight.

[ turntechGodhead is an idle chum ]

You haul your ass back into your room. It’s a good thing that rubbing alcohol dries fast. The scrapes didn’t need bandaging but a few of the cuts needed little butterfly stitches, the rest are band-aid jobs. You drop yourself face first onto the bed and try to sleep, you steadfastedly ignore the ping of your phone until it actually rings. No one ever calls you on this thing, it’s basically just a mobile pesterchum vehicle and a tool for selfies. It’s Rose’s number.

“Rose?” You say with a frown. 

“Go outside right now.” She says to you. No hello or how are you needed apparently. 

“Why?” 

“Just do it. Go open your front door, go outside it and shut it after you.” Rose asserts. 

You decide to do what she says, but only so that she will shut up and stop badgering you about it. Always picking. You stand out in your hallway like a tool. You decide to inform Rose as such.

“Well, here I am, standing in the hallway of my building like a tool.” You say flatly. 

“Can you hear anyone coming?” Rose asks quietly.

“Rose, I know that you’re way too far away to have got here this quickly so don’t-” You cut yourself off as the sound of footsteps and tired wheezing reach your ears. 

Rose stays silent on the other end and after a moment or two a seriously out of breath pizza guy appears. He glares at you as if you’d made him walk all this way. He must be lost though because you didn’t order a pizza and you doubt that Bro did or else he would have said something. If he was denying you pizza then it only works if you know but if he bought some for both of you then he just yells about pizza and you go eat it. It can’t be for across the hall either because that place has been empty for months. 

“Normally I don’t… do deliveries to… to dumb names like this… but since you paid in advance.” The guy puffs. You’re just about to open your mouth to tell him that you didn’t order anything when Rose’s voice pipes up in your ear.

“Take your pizza, Sigmund.” 

“Uh. Thanks.” You say blankly. They guy hands you a pizza box that is easily bigger than your whole fucking torso and hands you a bag with bottles of drink and some sides in it. 

“Whatever Dr. Freud.” The pizza guy grumbles and turns to go down the nine million steps back to the ground floor. 

You look down at the pizza box and note that it does indeed say ‘Dr. Freud’ as the recipient for the delivery, though the label is going black from the heat of the pizza, dumb thermal receipts. 

“I’d suggest getting back into your room as quickly as possible.” Rose suggests into your ear.

You ease the front door open, shut it as softly as possible, pinching your finger in the door jamb to do it. Safely secured inside your home you take your SWEET LOOT and ABSCOND. You flashstep to your room before fresh pizza smell can waft into the main room and give you away. You open the box. That is indeed a gigantic pizza with warm smell and cheese and oh god you are SO HUNGRY. 

You have time for one thing though.

“A sausage pizza? Really?” You sigh.

“I have to get my kicks somewhere Dave. Are the toppings ok though? No secret allergies that you’ve been keeping from me?” She asks, sounding a touch worried. 

“Nope, but even if I did I’d eat this fucker so fast and deal with the hospital later. Ohhh goddd.” You moan, biting into a slice and feeling the hot cheese and pepperoni taste fill your mouth. One slice is demolished in about 5 seconds. 

You dig through the provided bag one handed whilst another slice is going through your mouth like it’s on a conveyor belt, half supported and half pushed by your free hand. Your phone is pressed so tight against your ear by your shoulder that you’re pretty sure that your delt is going to have an apple logo imprinted on it. Rose isn’t saying anything but the two of you are just silent, together. You with your quiet irony and her with her knowing silences. 

Inside the white plastic bag is a giant bottle of soda, just straight lemonade but goddamn if you aren’t grateful for it. Your hand runs into something cold, something cold and round and when you grab it and pull it free from the clinging white plastic you try to laugh and choke on cheese instead. 

In your hand is a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, on the side it reads ‘Oh my! Apple pie!’

“Apple.” You say simply. 

“I thought it might be fitting.” Rose acknowledges. 

“I can’t eat all this, even I can’t-” you start to say. 

“I hear that cold pizza is good. Now you have lunch tomorrow, perhaps even breakfast if you get up early enough.” Rose says in a soft voice. 

“Cold pizza is good, warm ice cream not so much.” you conclude. 

“I agree. See you online Dave.” Rose says and hangs up. 

You eat ice cream so fast that your brain hurts and you finish the tub before returning to a last slice of pizza. You talk to Rose, John and Jade well into the night and then when you go to bed you still feel like your belly is fit to burst. Sweetest fucking calories ever. 

 

On Sunday morning you wake up actually in the morning. Ten am but still morning. You don’t feel bad about it though and you make your way up to the roof of your own will and train. It’s hot as all fuck outside but your bro can challenge you to a strife at any time of day regardless of the weather so it’d be a dumb move to only train when it’s comfortable to do so. 

You train your parry, your jab, slice and disarm moves. You train your body with pull ups and push ups, pizza and ice cream fuelling pure strength. Windfalls like last night don’t come around often and so you need to make the most of them if you’re ever going to keep up with Bro and stop yourself from having more intimate encounters with the stairs. 

You’re about done, tired enough from training to want to go in, shower and nap. You sense movement and suddenly look up, body tensed and hand on your sword. Your bro is in front of you.

“I’m done, all yours.” You say, gesturing to the expanse of space around you. 

Your bro says nothing and stares at you, blank behind his glasses. You return the same.

“What’s up Doc?” Bro eventually says and all of the blood drains from your face. He was in your room, he found the pizza box. 

“Oh, what? The pizza?” You shrug, cool as anything.

“Where’d you get it from?” Bro questions. 

“Pizza guy.” you answer, shooting for casual and coming up dumb. Bro’s glasses do that sinister anime glasses reflection shine and how the hell does he even do that? Are there classes? Is he secretly anime? How? You need to respond.

“He delivered to the wrong place. I wasn’t gonna say no to a pizza, especially as I didn’t have any-” You start but Bro cuts you off.

“Cold hard cash?” 

“Yeah.” You respond. 

Neither of you says anything. 

You take a step back, then another and after that you turn to face the roof exit to the stairwell but your bro is already up there. He’s sitting on the roof, his legs dangling down over the door. They’re not holding it shut but you’ve got no chance of getting through there with his legs there. 

“No abscond ‘lil bro. Strife.” Bro says, holding his arm up in the air as his katana pulls itself from his strife specibus and dumps it in his hand.

[turntechGodhead started pestering tentacleTherapist ]

TG:rpse   
TT: Dave?   
TG: giggle something for me   
TT: Giggle something?   
TG: might HVE A CONCUSHHUN   
TT: Dave I think you hit caps lock instead of A there.    
TT: Oh. Google, right. Get to the bathroom and call me. Can you stand?   
TG: y

You stagger to the bathroom, bouncing off of walls like a pimpball machine. No. Pinball. Scratch that, pimpball was cooler, you’re sticking with that. You get into the bathroom, shut the door, clatter over into the middle and decide against sitting on the rim of the tub and instead elect for the floor. You squint one eyed at your phone and hit Rose’s name in your call history, she’s at the top still. 

“Hey.” You say as she picks up.

“Dave, are you okay? What happened?” Rose asks. 

“Symptoms, Rose. Symptoms.” You demand, pressing the heel of your palm into your temple. 

“Fine.” She responds tersely, and then she begins to read.

“Brief loss of consciousness after the injury.” 

“Think so, not sure.” You answer.

“Memory problems.”

“Uh. How would you even know that? If I forgot something then how would I even know?” You respond, these questions are dumb.

“A valid point I suppose. Confusion?” Rose continues.

“No.”

“Drowsiness or feeling sluggish?” 

“Maybe, everything feels like a lot of effort I guess.” You shrug and then wished you hadn’t. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Rose sighs and you think that you can hear her taking notes in the background. Typical Rose.

“Dizziness?” Rose asks. 

“YES. Absolutely yes. Bouncing off of the walls like a pimpball on the way here.” You answer.

“You mean pinball? Because getting that wrong counts as confusion or possibly slurred speech.” Rose says with a groan. 

“Nah, I meant what I said. I’m all pimped up in here.” You groan, not even bothering to keep the tiredness out of your voice. You let your head loll back so that you’re looking at the damp stained ceiling. 

“Hah, ok. Double vision or blurred vision?” Rose asks.

“Blurred, that’s why I needed you to google for me. It’s clearing up now though.” 

“Well, that’s something. Okay, you’ve absolutely got a concussion, I don’t need to go through the rest. I’m just going to hit the list that determines if you need to go to a hospital or not.” Rose tells you.

You do not want to go to a hospital. You have far too many scrapes, cuts and bruises on you. There will be questions. Besides, you don’t even personally have money for groceries, let alone a medical visit. There’s only so much that Rose can abuse her mother’s credit card after all.

“Have you been throwing up a lot?” Rose questions.

“What? No. Not at all. Not letting that fine pizza get away from me.” You answer with a laugh.

“Ok, I’m going to need you to get to a mirror Dave, can you do that?” Rose asks and you roll your eyes at her tone. 

“I’m concussed, not a kid. What am I looking at here aside from a fine piece of Strider?” You ask. Though it must be noted that you are not looking so fine right now. You have a few more cuts and there’s a nasty leaking cut in your hairline that has dyed your white blonde hair red and stuck it to your head. You look like a shitty emo kid. 

“Dave, you’re twelve.” Rose says in a soft and pained voice.

“So are you! And it’s my birthday next month and- so what?” You snap. 

“And you’re calling me up because you have a concussion because-” Rose actually shouts. You hold the phone away from your ear because, ow, headache here.

“Sorry. Your pupils, are they the same size or not? Are your eyes shaking either?” Rose’s voice returns, a little frosty but otherwise normal. 

You slide your pointed shades up, they’re just like Bro’s and right now you don’t want to look at them and oh hey, there they are in the bath now. How did they get there? Mysteries. You peer at your cherry candy coloured eyes.

“No, same size. They’re still too.” You answer. 

“Okay.” Rose breathes out.

“Okay.” She repeats. 

“Tell me how you got this concussion in the first place. Please.” Rose asks. 

There’s a long silence between the two of you. 

“I warned you about the stairs bro.” You say in a voice that sounds like it’s in 4 point font. 

“I told you dog.” Rose echoes back in a slightly terrified voice. 

You start to patch the rest of yourself up, the silence between you not feeling uncomfortable but rather natural. 

“Why? You’ve never called me before and though I’d like to think that this is pizza based humility I don’t think that’s the case. Has a strife ever ended this badly before?” she asks after a while. 

“No, but I was the one who landed on my head. If my reflexes were better then-” You start, blaming your own ineptitude. You’ve never quite been like this with Rose and though you might blame it on the head injury but it feels better to share it with someone. 

“So why this time? Why did you strife?” she persists. 

“It’s nothing.” You answer. You don’t want her to feel bad. 

“…You’re avoiding the question.” 

“I’m not.”

“You’re doing it right now.” 

“Rose.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to tell- oh. Was it about the pizza?” Rose asks in the tiniest voice. 

“I should have thrown the box out. Don't feel bad. It’s my fault-”

“SHUT UP. Just- don’t start that.” Rose snarls through the phone at you and it sounds… dark. You are vaguely disturbed by this and her supposed dark magical powers.

“Calm your witchy tits Lalonde. I’m gonna go scavenge the freezer for food, or an ice pack. Out.” You say and hang up the phone. 

You make your way into the kitchen and forage into the freezer. Your hand alights on a cold block of something that wasn’t there before. Your heart leaps for frozen microwave meals but you see as you pull it out that it’s block of ice, the pattern of it suggests that it was water frozen in a Tupperware box. Inside is a fistful of twenties. Cold, hard, cash. 

Hah.

You snap a picture. John and his prankster’s gambit will find it funny at least. 

You grab a saucepan and a colander, neither of which have been used for years, and dump the lump of frozen money in the colander. It’ll melt sooner or later and then you’ll have food money for at least a month, maybe more if you’re careful. 

[ tentacleTherapist started pestering turntechGodhead ]

TT: You’re always welcome to stay with me if you ever want.   
TT: Think of it as a vacation that my mother will pay for without knowing.   
TT: She doesn’t even notice me around the house, you’ll be fine.    
TT: Hey, you could even wear my clothes and she’d be blitzed enough to think that you’re me.   
TT: It’ll be great.

[ tentacleTherapist is an idle chum ]

[ tentacleTherapist joined the board National Treasure – we’re going to watch this! ]  
GG: rose!  
GG: how was your day?  
TT: Oh, you know. The usual.   
TT: I’m making a new scarf.  
GT: you have so many scarves rose. do you really NEED more?  
TT: You can never have too many.  
GG: i played hide and seek with bec around the island and john has been investigating birthday presents for a certain person who’s birthday is coming up…  
GT: you blabbermouth!  
TG: my ears are burning yo  
GT: you still have yet to spill on your day dave!  
TG: oh  
TG: you know  
TG: the usual  
GG: sleeping all morning and then your supposedly ill beats?  
TG: yeah  
TG: those beats  
TG: oh john  
GT: hm?

[ turntechGodhead sent the file ‘coldhardcash.png’ ]

TG: asked my bro for some cold hard cash   
GT: oh man!   
GT: that is amazing!   
GG: i’m stunned that your dad hasn’t pulled that one on you john!   
GT: your bro is a funny guy dave!   
TG: yeah   
TG: my sides are aching here   
TT: I bet.   
TT: Oh. Sorry, I have to go. I think mother dearest has just smashed some bottles downstairs.    
TG: good luck   
TT: Yeah. I know where you are Dave, think about it.   
GT: wow rose, way to be super vague and ominous!

[ tentacleTherapist is an idle chum]

GG: so… are we doing this national treasure thing then??   
TG: where making this happen   
GT: when rose gets back we should all stream it at the same time!   
GT: so excited!!!   
TG: wait   
TG: phone

[ turntechGodhead is an idle chum ]


	2. Be the BROBOT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Companion chapter to Dave's, added after a flash of inspiration that left me rather sad.

When the world actually ends you feel the strangest sense of relief. You watch Dave from afar and see that all of your training has been worth it, Dave is safe, he's prepared and you weren't a horrible abusive person for nothing. You don't have the powers that you dreamed of now and then so you know which reality this one is. This is the one where you die. 

The first thing that you do is get yourself a sick ride and go off to take down the big bad boss and try to break the game. You've seen the scratched up record in your dreams, if you can do that to it and kill the freaky black dog then you might be able to save Dave. You might be able to make a new world and be exactly who you always should have been with Dave. You hate who you are and who you made him but when this is all over maybe you can both be different. You've seen your death a thousand times but you're a Strider goddamnit and Striders do not go down without a fight. Just because you dreamed it doesn't mean that it has to go down that way. Why would the other versions of you splinter themselves up to give you this knowledge if you couldn't avert it?

You fight and you fight so fucking hard. The first time you face the black insect skinned creep with the tentacle arms you find yourself pretty evenly matched so you go for the long game instead of him, win the war rather than fight the battle and all that. You're Sun fucking Tzu all up in this bitch. Sticking your sword into the fucking record didn't do shit though and so you end up absconding like the prince of idiots. 

You find him again and fight him. You piss him off with 'lil Cal because it's not Dave who ruined your life, it's not even you, not really. It's this guy. Midway through the fight he changes, he changes into the thing that you've seen in your dreams, the dog faced killer and suddenly he goes from mid-level boss fight to endgame curb stomp battle. 

You have never in your life got you ass handed to you this badly. You feel like there are two versions of you, the vision that you've always seen happening and the you that it's actually happening to. Dave's not even there, but there's some strange bird-like Dave that's been in your dreams too and he's scared as shit at seeing you get the shit kicked out of you. He's doing everything he can to fight it and fight this guy but it's clear as day to you. You gave up everything you had to prepare Dave for this world and to stop this from happening to both of you and you have failed on every account, you let everyone down. It is all your fault. 

The bastard disarms you and he holds your sword up above your body. You know what comes next, you shut your eyes and hope to the gods that you don't believe in that Dave won't ever find your body, that he won't have to see this. It's bad enough hearing the orange bird Dave's screams, but they blot out at the rush of pain when the blade goes through your chest. 

It's exactly like you dreamed it would be. Agonizing pain as your chest heaves, trying to get in air that it can't reach and ripping itself on your blade each time it moves. It feels like blood filling your lungs in a race between bleeding out and drowning in your own blood. As everything goes black you cling to two last hopes, that Dave will be okay and save the world like he was meant to and that the other version of you will meet him and maybe he and Dave get a do over. 

Dying is a relief.


End file.
